Dead Winter (The Black Plague Trilogy Book 1) by C L Werner

Author:C L Werner [Werner, C L]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter X

Altdorf

Vorhexen, 1111

Rats scurried through the rafters of the old warehouse while snow drifted down through holes in the roof. The bite of winter whistled through gaps in the walls, stirring up the thick layers of dust which lay everywhere.

The building had been shabby and poorly maintained even before its abandonment, owned by a Drakwald baron with a penchant for mercantile pursuits far beyond his finances. Since the ruination of Drakwald and the evanishment of the baron, the warehouse had been left to its own, quietly decaying into the riverfront. Even before the plague, Altdorf’s dispossessed had shunned the place, seeking less dilapidated environs in which to ensconce themselves. Since the onset of the Black Plague, there were too many houses and manors devoid of tenants for anyone to look twice at a crumbling ruin.

Its very ignominy made the warehouse the perfect setting for a midnight rendezvous. Never had the riverfront played host to such an assemblage as now congregated under the tattered tile roof of the old warehouse.

For the best part of an hour, a cross-section of the Empire’s lords and leaders had been discussing questions of loyalty and tyranny, of honour and conscience, of survival and destruction. Captain Erich von Kranzbeuhler, much as he had at that long ago meeting in Prince Sigdan’s castle, maintained a cautious silence, content to listen and observe.

The ghastly execution of Grand Master von Schomberg had backfired upon Emperor Boris and his scheming confederates. Instead of subjugating dissent through terror they had created a martyr, a rallying point for the many enemies of Boris Goldgather and his grasping policies. Despite the plague and the chill of winter, demonstrations against the Emperor had popped up in every quarter of the city. Walls throughout Altdorf had been marked up with the image of the Imperial eagle, a noose wrapped about its neck. An armed mob had even broken into the residence of Lord Ratimir, forcing the minister to flee and seek protection within the walls of the Imperial Palace.

As Erich looked across the desolate warehouse, his spirit thrilled at the great men who had joined their destinies to the cause of justice. The cadaverous Palatine Mihail Kretzulescu of Sylvania standing beside Baron von Klauswitz of Stirland, the animosities of their homelands set aside in this moment of mutual crisis. Baron Thornig of Middenheim and his daughter the Princess Erna. Duke Konrad Aldrech and Count van Sauckelhof, lords of lands reduced to ruins by the politicking and opportunism of their Emperor. Even the diminutive Chief Elder Aldo Broadfellow, representing the halfling dominion of the Moot, was present. The halflings owed their independence to the old emperor, but that debt hadn’t made them blind to the outrages of their benefactor’s son.

Beside the noble lords and dignitaries of distant lands, the Arch-Lector Wolfgang Hartwich was present. With him, the Sigmarite priest had brought several commoners, representatives of the peasant trade guilds and men from Wilhelm Engel’s scattered Bread Marchers. Sentiment against Emperor Boris wasn’t confined to the noble

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